


Papa Don't Preach

by talkingismylife



Series: escape (the piña colada song) verse [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, F/M, John and Veronica need to learn about condoms, M/M, Mild Angst, Roger is a good friend, Some attempts at humor, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingismylife/pseuds/talkingismylife
Summary: Veronica had been feeling rather like life had kicked her in the crotch when she wasn't looking, and wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over her head and sleep it all away. She had woken up with a raging headache, which did very little to improve her mood, considering she had been bloated and constipated for the past week. She'd begged off her usual Thursday night hang outs with Roger due to her feeling poorly, and had barely managed to make it to dinner with John the previous night after her nap had lasted much longer than the originally planned twenty minutes. John had been understanding, but the thought of him waiting for her at their usual pub made her push her face further into her pillow."This is the worst week," she groaned.Or, Veronica learns that somethings the best things in life come at the worst times.





	Papa Don't Preach

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, it's not necessary for you to read the previous works before this. However, it is much appreciated. 
> 
> It should also be assumed by now that I have no real understanding of any sort of actual timeline: while this technically does fall after _I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)_ , it would most likely fall in between chapters three and four of _Escape (The Piña Colada Song)_. But hey, where we're going, we don't need timelines

"Ouch, shit!" 

John drew back from the love bite he had been carefully sucking into the fine expanse of her neck, his brow furrowed. 

"Did I hurt you?" 

Veronica hissed, batting his hand off her breast, replacing it with her own. "No, no, sorry, it's just...I'm really tender today." 

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "My boobs, John. They're really swollen--" 

"I mean, I was _gonna_ say--"

"Oh, shut it, John, it actually really hurts!" 

That made him pull back, scooting up the bed so that he was sitting to face her. Worry tight in the corners of his eyes, his hands hovered just above hers, as though he didn't quite know what to do with them. "Shit, Ron, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?" 

"Just...just don't touch them, okay? We can keep going, but like, ignore them. Please." 

He frowned. "Ron, we don't have to. We can just go to bed, if you'd rather." 

Now it was her turn to frown. "No, seriously, keep going, just don't touch my boobs." 

"If you're sure--" 

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Veronica quickly shoved him back, straddling his lap and twisting her fingers into his hair while she ground her hips down, hard. John let out what she could only describe as a 'meep' as he scrambled to place his hands on her waist. 

"John, baby, if you ask me one more time if I'm sure, I'm going to climb out of bed and into Roger's," she warned him with a teasing grin. John surged up, kissing her breathless. Veronica would never, ever, grow tired of the way he'd kiss her--how he'd carefully cradle her cheek with the palm of his hand, as though it were something precious worth treasuring; the gentle hum he'd make just before he'd pull away for a breath; or how he'd always pull her so tight against him it was as though he wanted her to climb into his ribcage and make herself a home beneath his beating heart. Every kiss from him made her feel like she'd lit up like the Eiffel Tower. 

He pulled back, leaving her panting and aching, trying to follow after him for more. Cocking one eyebrow, he slowly ran his fingers down the back of her spine, leaving a trail of shivers in his wake. He leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath on her cupid's bow, but far enough away that she couldn't reach his lips with hers. 

"Are you sure?" he whispered coyly. 

"I'm gonna smother you with the goddamned pillow," she huffed, making to roll off the bed. He chased after her with a large palm against the delicate bones of her wrist, catching her and tugging her back onto his lap, swallowing up any further protests with his tongue. 

Any aches or pains she had were quickly forgotten.

 

 

 

There were a few perks to not living with your boyfriend. The first being that you didn't always have to deal with his friends invading your space and eating all your food. The second being able to use the bathroom in peace, none of this sneaking to the toilet in the middle of the night so he wouldn't catch any unsavoury sights or sounds. And third, and probably best of all, Veronica could spend an entire day wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and her largest pair of pajamas nicked from her brother's closet, her hair tangled sloppily down her back with her fringe greasy and lank. 

Not that she was usually such a slob, but she had been feeling rather like life had kicked her in the crotch when she wasn't looking, and wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over her head and sleep it all away. She had woken up with a raging headache, which did very little to improve her mood, considering she had been bloated and constipated for the past week. She'd begged off her usual Thursday night hang outs with Roger due to her feeling poorly, and had barely managed to make it to dinner with John the previous night after her nap had lasted much longer than the originally planned twenty minutes. John had been understanding, but the thought of him waiting for her at their usual pub made her push her face further into her pillow. 

"This is the worst week," she groaned. Tugging the blankets higher over her head, she gripped the edge of the blanket and rolled herself up tighter into a burrito. Veronica was just on the edge of falling back asleep when the doorbell rang, jerking her out of her long-awaited sleep. Refusing to even entertain the thought of crawling free from the blanket swaddle, she shuffled into the hallway, duvet and all. She was beyond caring what people thought of how she looked.

At least, she thought she was, until she opened the door to see John on the other side, paper bag in hand and crinkle-eyed smile just for her. 

"No," she breathed, her eyes wide. 

He startled. "No?"

"No," she repeated. "No, no, okay, no. You just--you just stay right there. _Right there_ , okay? Don't move. Just, stay." 

Slamming the door behind her, she stumbled back towards her room, which, upon a second glance, looked more like a crypt than a bedroom; the floor covered in dirty clothes, the curtains drawn tight against the window, and, most damning, a modest collection of dirty tea cups on the nightstand. There was no time for her to handle that, though. Right at the moment, it was more important for her to change from her sick clothes and into something more acceptable. 

Making quick work to shirk her pajamas, she stumbled into the first pair of jeans she could find and a comfortable sweater, baggy enough to hide the fact that she hadn't bothered to put on a bra. Rushing into the bathroom, she gargled a mouthful of Listerine, cursed her greasy hair, and did her best to scrap it back into a neater, more presentable braid. One last glance over showed that there was very little else she could do to improve her appearance, so, with a prayer up to the heavens, she raced back to the front door. 

Fortunately, John was still there, albeit far more amused. 

"You stayed," she panted, pinching one hand to the stitch in her side. 

"Woof," he teased. God, he was such a dork. She couldn't help but smile dopily up at him. "Can I come in?" 

Shit. 

"Yes," she warned, "but if you want to come into my room, you'll have to sit on the couch while I tidy up." 

John blushed beautifully. "Why, Miss Tetzlaff, are you trying to seduce me?" 

"Is it working?"

She stepped aside, allowing him to come in with a wave of her hand and raising to her tiptoes for his offered kiss. 

"Oh yes," he murmured. "Nothing turns me on more than a woman wrapped up in a blanket." 

"That could be arranged," she offered, "but only if you let me clean my room first." 

Chuckling, he slipped past her and headed into the kitchen. She followed him, curious. "Do you want a cuppa?" 

"Only if you want one. I know you haven't been feeling very well, so I figured I'd swing by with some of the necessities, make sure you were comfortable," he said as though it were the most natural thing in the world. With his back to her, he didn't notice her clutch at her chest and swoon dramatically, fanning herself as she lent against the wall. He started pulling things from the grocery bag, setting the items on the counter as he spoke. "I've brought some ginger ale, and a can of tomato soup. I would have brought chicken noodle, but I know how much you hate cooked carrots and didn't want you to have to pick--what's the matter? Have I got something on my face?" 

Veronica took a deep breath, shaking herself out of her daze. "John, I mean this with all the love in my heart. If you don't drop what you're doing and get into my bedroom in five seconds, I'm breaking up with you." 

"But I thought you wanted to clean it--"

"Five! Four--" 

She didn't even have time to worry about the dirty clothes or the mugs as he carried her laughing down the hallway--that would be tomorrow's problem.

 

 

 

Later that night, Veronica laid awake in bed, curled up on her side, watching John sleep. In the back of her mind, she knew it was rather creepy, and to be honest, she probably wouldn't feel that comfortable if John confessed that he had done the same to her, but she couldn't stop. How could she, when she was next to the man she loved? If you had told her all those years ago in that fateful little disco that the shy student who offered to buy her a drink would turn out to be the love of her life, the man who remembered she hated cooked carrots and brought her ginger ale when she was ill, well--

John let out a loud snore, smacking his lips as he reached down to scratch his balls. 

"I love you," Veronica whispered. She leaned in close to brush his hair away from his shoulder, pressing her lips against his warm skin. "I love you so much it hurts." 

He let out another little snore in response. Smiling into his shoulder, she wrapped one arm around his chest and cuddled up into him, pressing against the whole length of his body for warmth. She couldn't help but tuck her cold feet next to his, giggling slightly as he twitched in his sleep; he tugged the blanket up higher over the two of them. Holding her breath to see if he had woken up, she counted his breaths until she was sure he was back asleep. Then, only then, did she confess her deepest secret into the smooth expanse of his back. 

"One day, John Deacon, I'm going to marry you," she promised. "No take backs."

 

 

 

"I swear to God, I am just so damn tired all the time," Veronica bitched, sucking hard on the butt of her cigarette. Turning her head, she exhaled the smoke away from Roger's face. "No matter how much I sleep, I wake up feeling like I've barely gotten twenty minutes." 

"Preach," Roger grunted, reaching across the table to snatch the ciggie from her fingers. "Brian's got this song stuck in his head that he's trying to write, and it's been keeping him up all night. But when _he_ stays up on the couch repeating the same four chords over and over, it means that I'm stuck awake listening to it." 

"Men," Veronica huffed. 

"We're the worst." 

He flagged down their waiter, ordering a second round of beer and cider. 

"And an order of Scotch eggs," she added. "But seriously, Rog, last night I slept ten hours. Ten hours!"

"How is that a problem?" Roger stamped out the embers of their shared cigarette, patting down his pockets for his carton. Sticking a fresh one between his lips, he graciously allowed her to light it for him with her own match. "Cheers, love." 

"The problem is that I then ended up taking _another_ nap this afternoon. It's like I'm always trying to get more sleep, and it's never enough." 

He offered her the cigarette, and she took it from him again. Ever since they'd met, she and Roger had always met on Thursday nights to commiserate in a pub over smokes and beers, discussing everything from boy troubles to politics. It was cathartic, in their own way. 

He squinted at her through the blue haze of smoke. "Have you been getting night sweats?" 

"What?"

"Like, are you waking up sweaty?" 

"Ew, gross." 

He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his new beer. "Yes or no, Tetz." 

"Ugh, fine, sometimes."

"Have you got a headache?" 

She blinked. "Well, yeah." 

"Any aches and pains?"

"My lower back has been killing me, actually, now that you mention it." 

He snatched the cigarette from her fingers, holding it away from her and glaring suspiciously. "How about nausea?" 

Although she was loathe to admit it, she had spent the better part of the early afternoon fighting back the urge to puke into her classroom's garbage. Roger took her silence as an admittance of guilt, and he promptly stubbed out the cigarette with more force than necessary, ignoring her protest. 

"What'd you do that for?" 

"Okay, I'm no bloody doctor, but my mate had the same symptoms last year." 

"Symptoms of what? Suffering the cruelties of becoming an adult?" 

"No, pneumonia." 

Veronica barked out a laugh. "Hate to break it to you, Rog, but I haven't got a cough, have I?"

"Neither did Danny! Called it 'walking pneumonia', said he just felt like he could never get enough sleep, and his whole body ached." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah, oh." 

The waiter brought over the plate of Scotch eggs, but neither reached for them. 

"So what do I do?" she asked, timid. Roger sighed, giving into temptation and grabbing one of the eggs and shoving half the thing into his mouth. 

"Go to a doctor," he grunted around his mouthful. She pulled a face. 

"You're disgusting. And it's not like I have a car." 

"Ask Deacy! He'd love to play White Knight for you," Roger shrugged. 

Veronica levelled him with a rather sharp glare. "You know how worried he can get, and I don't want him getting into a tizzy only for this to be stress." 

"Ugh, Veronica," Roger grabbed for another egg, but she slapped his hand away, stealing it for herself. "If you wanted me to drive you myself, you only had to ask." 

He yelped when her foot connected with his shin. She grinned around the mess of food in her mouth. 

"Look, worst case scenario, it's pneumonia. You go on some meds, spent the week in bed with sweet Deacy playing nurse maid, and then you're good. Best case, it's just like you said and you're stressed." 

She sipped her cider carefully, mulling it over in her mind. "I guess you're right." 

"Damned right I am! And hey, at least it's just pneumonia," he joked, "and not a _baby_." 

Veronica nearly snorted out her cider, she laughed so hard. "Trust me, Rog, there's no chance in hell I'm pregnant." 

"Oh yeah? Is little Deacy not delivering?" 

That earned him another kick, much harder than the first. " _Not_ that it's any of your business, but no. I've got that taken care of." 

And she had. The moment she realized that John was the one for her, she and her roommate had snuck out of the dorm one late night and ridden the tube all the way across London just to buy diaphragms and spermicide. It had felt illicit, and, if she was being honest, almost _dirty_. But, better a week or two of shame and some guilty Hail Mary's than getting into _trouble_ , in her opinion. 

"Alright, alright, no need to get huffy!" He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Look, I'm free Monday morning. Why don't you make an appointment at the doctor's, and I'll drive you over. Sound good?" 

She hesitated, just a moment, but shrugged it off with a nod of her head. What did she have to lose?

 

 

 

Monday morning came, bright and early. Bundled up tightly against the bitter November cold, Veronica rubbed her hands together before stuffing them into her jacket pockets. Winter was blustery and cold this year, leaving her aching for somewhere warm. Maybe once Queen finished their next album, John would finally have enough cash for them to spend a holiday along the Spanish coast, or maybe even Florida. That would give her something to look forward to once this whole "potentially having pneumonia" thing cleared up. 

"Tetz! Get your head out of the clouds and your ass in my van!" Roger bellowed from across the street, hanging his head out the window. Veronica scowled, rushing across the street so as to throw herself into the warm passenger seat of the van. "Morning, sunshine." 

"Who's idea was it to wake up this early?" she snarked, pushing her hands against the vents so as to get a bit more feeling into them. 

"Sorry, love, but I've got plans in the afternoon with Fred, and I can't miss them," Roger explained as he pulled out into the traffic. "We've got tickets to the movies, and I think if I bailed he'd actually find reason to kill me." 

She didn't bother dignifying it with a response, choosing instead to curl up against the window and doze lightly. It didn't take very long at all before Roger was shaking her awake, announcing that they had arrived at the clinic. With a little stretch and a kitten yawn, she clambered down from the tall seat and allowed herself to be led to the front desk, where a lovely nurse with a sweet smile greeted them with a clipboard. 

"Says here it wants to know your blood type," Roger grumbled, scratching at his temple. "Do you know that?" 

"A-," she supplied as she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. He smelled of old cigarettes and rosewood. 

"Hey, tiger, don't go falling asleep on me now." He jostled her head with his shoulder, forcing her upright. "Geez, you're really tuckered out, huh?" 

"I didn't sleep well last night," she confessed, "too nervous." She had spent the whole night dozing in and out of sleep, all the while fighting off nausea that had her running to the bathroom every other hour. 

"It'll all be alright, don't worry. Just a quick x-ray and then they'll write you a 'script. And hey, I'll even buy you breakfast after." 

"I want a real fry up," she agreed. "With extra beans and tomatoes." 

"Done." 

He finished scrawling in her information for her, and ran it back to the nurse. Not without a quick flirt and a wink, of course. Roger might be in a long term committed relationship with a man, but that didn't mean he didn't have _eyes_ for God's sake. He could still flirt a tad, but he never acted on it. 

"If anyone asks, you're my brother," Veronica muttered once he returned. He frowned. "Look, it's not exactly _smiled_ upon for me to be here with anyone of the opposite sex if we're not related or married. And since we're not married--"

"We could totally be married," Roger hissed. "I'm a damned catch." 

"And I'm dating your best friend," she reminded him.

"Semantics. Plus, they don't know that! And anyways, what's it matter? I'm just gonna sit here and wait for you." 

Veronica tensed up, refusing to look at Roger. She hadn't thought of that, she had just assumed he'd come with her. It's not that she was afraid of the doctor, per say, but she would definitely feel much better having someone there who actually spoke their language and would understand what was being said. 

Roger noticed her discomfort. "I mean, unless you want me there, of course. I can definitely come in, if you'd prefer." 

"Would you mind?" she whispered, staring down at where her fingers had tangled together, her knuckles blanching from the force. He placed his hand over hers, squeezing tightly. 

"Of course I don't mind," he soothed. "I'd be honoured." 

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he turned to her with a smile. "Hey, do you think if I'm good, they'll give me a lollipop?" 

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, they were called into the back, Roger following behind her like a little duckling. The nurse ushered them into the room and instructed Veronica to sit up on the table. 

"Alright, my love, what's your purpose for today's visit?" the woman asked, uncapping her pen and holding it tightly over the paper. 

Veronica cleared her throat. "Erm, well, I've been really exhausted lately, and my back has been aching something fierce. Plus, I've been waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and when I told Roger--"

"Who's Roger?" 

Veronica startled, but Roger cut her off at the pass. 

"Roger Tetzlaff," he smiled, offering his hand for the nurse to shake. "Veronica's husband." 

When all this was done and over with, she was going to kill the man and scatter his body from here to Norway. Seething, Veronica took a deep breath and shot him a deadly glare. He didn't even have the decency to look bothered, merely smiling up at her with fake adoration and reaching to take her hand in his. In retaliation, she dug her nails into the soft part of his palm, getting a sick sort of enjoyment out of seeing him squirm.

"Yes, my _husband_. I told him how I was feeling, and he thought it might be walking pneumonia." 

"I'm a biologist, you see," Roger winked. Veronica dug her nails in harder. 

"Right, ducky, sounds like you've been having a rough go of things lately," the nurse simpered. "How long have you been feeling this way?" 

Veronica paused, counting back. "It's been three--no, maybe four weeks?" 

The nurse clucked her tongue. "Dr. Mathers will definitely want to see you behind an x-ray, I'm sure. Now, I have to ask some routine questions first, beginning with, is there a chance you might be pregnant?" 

There was a strange sort of strangled noise. It took Veronica a moment to realize it came from her. "Oh, erm, no. I'm sure I'm not." 

The nurse paused. "How sure is sure?"

Veronica flushed a new shade of scarlet, refusing to look at Roger. "I, um, I use a diaphragm. And I've...I've been spotting. So, I think pretty sure?" 

The nurse scribbled something onto her form before setting it all aside and reaching for her gloves. "Right, well, dearie, it's customary for us to take a urine sample of married couples anyways. Just in case, you see. The last thing we want is an accidental exposure for the wee babe." 

Veronica was going to dance on Roger's grave once this whole mess was over with. From the corner of her eye, she could see he at least looked uncomfortable, and, if she had to guess, cowed. Refusing to look at the nurse as she was handed a cup, Veronica chose instead to glare at his head, picturing all the ways she was going to make him suffer for this. She was pointed towards the toilet and sent on her merry way. 

Grumbling all the way into the stall, and rather thankful for the large cup of tea she'd had before leaving, Veronica was only able to get through the whole humiliating ordeal with the knowledge that she would be able to blackmail Roger into doing whatever she wanted from now until eternity. After some finagling, and too much worry that she'd miss, she was able to fill the cup up to the dreaded line and deliver it into the tiny box for samples. She washed her hands for a full five minutes, checked her appearance once in the mirror, and carefully made her way back to the room, where she was given the assurance that the test would be conducted right away and that the doctor would be in to see her shortly. 

Once the door closed behind the nurse, Veronica reached over to thwap Roger across the back of the head. 

"Ow! Jesus, Tetz, no need to be so violent!" 

"What did you do that for, saying I'm your bloody wife!" 

"I just thought it would be funny, not that they'd make you piss in a cup," he whined, dodging her hand again. "C'mon, no harm no foul!" 

"Oh, I'll give you harm! I just had to pee in a cup!" 

She reached over to smack him again. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, alright! I'll make it up to you." 

"Damned straight you will." 

 

 

 

It felt like an eternity before there was a knock on the door, and a rather frazzled doctor entered the room, carrying her file under one arm. 

"Hullo, you must be Mrs. Tetzlaff," he nodded, holding out one weathered hand for her to shake. "I'm Dr. Mathers. I understand you're here regarding a potential case of walking pneumonia?"

"Yes," Veronica sighed. "I'm worried that's what it must be." 

"Well, there are a few ways we can check. We'll try an x-ray, but I haven't yet received your results back on the pregnancy test. So what I'll do first is check your vitals, and give your lungs a quick listen. Once we get that test back, then I'll have you scurry down to the x-rays, alright?"

Veronica shrugged, allowing the doctor to give her a quick check over. He poked in her ears, checked her throat and nose, and stuck a thermometer under tongue. The whole while, Roger held her hand, squeezing every so often for comfort. When it came time for Dr. Mathers to check her lungs, Roger graciously stared up at the ceiling while the doctor stuck his cold stethoscope under her shirt to listen to her breathing. He was just finishing up his full exam when someone knocked on the door, calling him into the hallway. 

Roger jumped to his feet, stretching carefully. "Alright, so it sounds like we're just gonna have to wait on the x-ray," he yawned. "And then we're getting brekkie and a nap." 

"God, a nap sounds delicious right now," Veronica sighed, rubbing the small of her back. "A nap, and a dill pickle." 

He curled his nose. "Is that what you're calling Deacy's knob now?" 

Veronica let out a quick cackle, but jabbed her fingers into the soft underpart of his ribs, enjoying his yelp of pain. 

"You need to wash your mouth out, mister! You're filthy," she faux-snapped, running her hand through her fringe. "How Brian puts up with you, I have no idea." 

Roger smirked, leaning in close enough for her to count each individual lash. "You know _exactly_ why, I bloody taught you the tongue thing." 

Veronica flushed. "Touché." 

There was yet another knock at the door, and Dr. Mather's returned. He was holding a piece of paper in one hand, and grinning broadly. Roger settled back next to Veronica, reaching out to take her clammy hand in his.

"Well, Mrs. Tetzlaff, I have good news. It's not walking pneumonia--"

"Oh thank god," Veronica yelped, grinning broadly. Roger leapt back to his feet, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. She clung to him, pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder and breathing in deeply, beyond relieved. 

"I knew it," Roger boasted, all false bravado. "See, babe? You should always listen to me, I _told_ you, you were overreacting!" 

Veronica laughed breathlessly, unable to even correct him. They were so wrapped up in their own joy, they didn't pay any notice to Dr. Mathers until he cleared his throat. 

"Yes, yes, it's good news. However, it's just as I expected, Mrs. Tetzlaff. I must admit, congratulations are in order. From what you've told us, it seems as though you're four weeks pregnant. Congratulations, you'll have a lovely baby." Dr. Mathers smiled at the two of them, holding out the results of her test to the two of them. 

They both froze, still curled against each other. Veronica could see Dr. Mathers saying something--after all, his lips were moving--but she couldn't hear anything over the roaring in her ears. 

"Pardon me?" It sounded as though she were speaking into a glass, her voice distorted and echo-y. 

"You're pregnant, Mrs. Tetzlaff." 

"That's impossible," she said faintly. Sometimes, after a night at John's shows, her ears would ring for hours and hours afterwards, hard and heavy in the base of her skull, filling her brain and rattling around so that everyone's voices sounded like they were calling out to her from the bottom of the ocean, the only thing she could properly hear being John's bass lines, thumping away like a heartbeat in her head. It sounded like that now, thick and heavy and drowning out everything else. 

"Mrs. Tetzlaff, I can assure you, the test is rarely wrong." 

"It has to be wrong, seeing as I have a diaphragm, and I use it diligently every time I have sex," Veronica said. Her voice was high pitched and strangled, foreign to herself. "I've never had sex without it! We even use condoms. No, you have to be wrong." 

"Diaphragms have a 6% rate of failure, even with proper use. Within the first year alone, there is a 39% chance of insemination," Dr. Mathers explained in a calm voice. It sounded like he was instructing her on how to write a letter, not breaking her heart over a piece of paper and cup full of urine. "The miracle of life--"

"This is not a miracle!" she exclaimed, her heart beating its way up to her throat. "You must have tested the wrong sample. I can't be pregnant, why, I've been bleeding!" 

"Spotting is common in the first trimester as the uterine line grows--"

"No! You're wrong. I demand you test it again, because _I am not pregnant!_ " 

Dr. Mathers took a deep breath. "Mrs. Tetzlaff, I can assure you, I am not wrong. You're pregnant." 

"Prove it," she snarled. "Show me!" 

"Alright," he said sharply. "I'll prove it to you." 

He opened the examination room door and gestured for someone to come in. The nurse from before entered, holding her cup of pee. Veronica felt vaguely ill as she watched the woman open a new pregnancy test, lower it into the urine, and pull it out. Before her eyes, the stick changed from white to dark, vivd blue. 

"See? Pregnant," Dr. Mathers announced. 

There was a strangled gasp followed by an absurdly loud crash. Veronica turned around just in time to see Roger's eyes roll up into his skull as he dropped into a dead faint, sprawling out onto the tiled floor in an undignified spread eagle. The three of them watched in horror as he let out a groan, twitched, and fell limp. 

"Not to alarm you, Mrs. Tetzlaff," the nurse said gently, "but I think your husband just peed himself."

 

 

 

It had taken a while for them to recover from Roger's spectacular spectacle in the doctor's office. One the shock had worn off, Dr. Mather's had immediately pulled smelling salts from a drawer and waved them under Roger's nose, forcing him out of his faint with a muted whimper. Veronica herself had found it hard not to join him on the floor, held together only by the kind nurse, who, upon noticing the sickly shade of grey she had suddenly turned, shoved her head between her knees and instructed her on how to breathe through the shock. 

Roger, who had indeed wet his pants ("It's completely normal," Dr. Mathers assured him as he helped him to sit up. "When your system shuts down that quickly, the first thing to go is usually the bladder. We'll have some spare scrubs brought to you, never you mind."), was ceremoniously lifted off the floor and dropped into a wheelchair, where the pretty nurse from the front desk took advantage of his weakened state to pour currant squash down his throat and force feed him a lollipop or two. Under any other normal circumstance, Veronica would have found the entire situation to be hysterical, but instead, found herself fighting back an entire flood worth of tears that would have put Noah's Ark to shame. 

"I can't be pregnant," she blubbered, struggling to maintain her sanity as the nurse rubbed her back soothingly. "This can't be happening." 

"I think m'gonna be sick," Roger croaked.

Veronica buried her face in her knees and tried not to choke on her own tears. 

 

 

 

Roger adjusted the ice pack on his head, hissing as it jostled the rather sizeable lump. He shifted in the front seat of his van, the borrowed scrubs rustling against the pleather. 

"Do you have to keep fidgeting?" Veronica snapped miserably as she sped out of the car park. "Can you not--just, please, Roger, sit still!" 

"Sorry," Roger grunted, repositioning the ice pack. "M'head hurts."

"I'm sure it does, but I'm trying to get us home, and I can't focus on driving this shit box when you're making so much fuckin' noise!" she shouted, struggling to maintain any cool she might have once had. 

"Tetz--"

"Just _shut up_! Please, Roger, just be quiet so I can get us home!" Veronica never liked to raise her voice. In fact, she had always been taught that a lady never raised her voice, but then again, ladies weren't supposed to get pregnant out of wedlock by bass players in a glam rock band, so if they were throwing the entire rule book out the window, Veronica could scream all she wanted.

"Okay, okay," Roger said soothingly. They drove home in silence, the only sound being the occasional _drip_ of water from the melting ice pack. It seemed to take her years to get the van back to Roger and Brian's flat, her white knuckled grip on the steering wheel being the only thing that kept her from completely losing it. She was trying to focus on her breathing, holding herself back from a complete and utter meltdown, but first, she'd have to get Roger home. Then she could safely return to her own little flat and scream and wail and panic in peace. Parking the van was a nightmare, but once she successfully parallel parked the van in front of their building, she turned the car off and rocked back into her seat. 

They sat there, together, completely silent. She was still unable to let go of the wheel, her fingers gripping so tightly that they ached. 

"Do you want to come in?" Roger asked softly. "I'll make you some tea." 

"I want to go home," she whispered, her throat tight with suppressed tears. 

"Okay, babe, I can do that. Let me change my pants and I'll drive you--"

"No, I want to go _home_. I want my mum. I want her to tell me that everything's going to be alright." To her horror, the tears that she had been trying so hard to keep inside began to slip down her cheeks. "She's never going to speak to me when she finds out." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm...I'm an _unwed mother_ ," she sniffled, finally letting go of the wheel to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. "I might as well tell her that I murdered my nan." 

Roger leaned over to grab her hand, his own still cold and slightly damp from the ice pack. "Ronnie, listen to me. Everything's going to be okay." 

"What am I going to do, Rog?" Veronica asked tearfully, dropping her head forward so that her face was hidden by the curtains of her hair. "Queen is only just picking up, and John and I are so young. We're not even engaged, I can't raise a baby out of wedlock--"

"So I'll marry you," Roger said matter of fact. Noticing Veronica's completely unimpressed look, he shrugged. "It's not like Brian and I could get married, anyway, and this way you won't be all alone. But it won't even matter, anyways, because there's no way in hell John's not going to marry you the second he finds out. The lad's so in love with you, he'd marry you tomorrow if you said you wanted to, baby or not." 

"I can't ask him to do that," Veronica sniffled. "He can't throw everything away, for me. And if John doesn't want the baby--" 

"First of all, that's not going to happen, and it's not throwing everything away. John's mad about you. Even if he wasn't, I told you, I'll marry you and raise the baby myself if I have to. And secondly, don't talk like that. You're better than this pity party you're throwing yourself." 

"It's my party, and I can cry if I want to," Veronica chuckled wetly. Roger let out a snort. They looked over each other quickly, before turning away, but the damage was done. Within seconds, the two of them had collapsed into peals of laughter, hacking and snorting through their tears as the whole shock of the day hit them. "I'm going to have a b-baby!" 

"With _Deacy_!"

They proceeded to completely lose it. Veronica felt as though she was going to choke on her own tongue, her entire face screwed up tight and hot as they howled. Every time she looked at Roger, she could see him spread eagle on the floor, peeing his pants, which she told him. It caused them to laugh even harder. 

"Rog," she gasped, "m'gonna pee my fucking pants if we don't stop!" 

"Stop," Roger begged, wiping his eyes with his palm as he cried. "Please, c'mon, stop!" 

They were finally able to slowly stop laughing, drifting off into the occasional hiccough and snort, coughing into their fists and easing themselves back into some sort of normalcy. Roger shifted again, hissing as the ice water dribbled down the back of his collar. 

"Let's go," Veronica hiccoughed, scrambling to undo her seatbelt and force open the door. "If we don't get inside and lie down, I'm gonna have a wobble." 

"Thank Christ, Tetz, I need a shower." 

Veronica hauled him from the car, slapping away his hands when he tried to push him away from her, protesting that he was fine. 

"No, you're not, Rog. You've nearly brained yourself on the doctor's floor, and you're swaying back and forth. Let me help you inside!" she insisted, struggling to wrap an arm around his waist. He broke free, stumbling halfway up the walkway to the stairs, weaving back and forth dangerously as his equilibrium settled after his rather dramatic swoon.

"It's fine, I don't need your help!" he protested, trying to wiggle free. She clenched her jaw, reaching out to wrap her arms around him, catching him right before the stairs to his front door. 

"Roger Taylor, I'm pregnant, I'm not a fucking invalid!" 

"You're _what_?" 

Veronica whirled around in horror, coming face to face with a rather ashen faced John. In her panic, she let go of Roger while simultaneously pushing him aside. With a startled cry, he lost his balance, tipped over, and fell directly into the bushes. 

"John--"

"Why is Roger in the bushes?" Freddie asked, peering around John. "Veronica, darling, you look peaky, are you alright?"

Dimly, Veronica noticed Freddie and Brian standing behind John--who still hadn't moved--both squinting in the early autumn sun. 

"You're pregnant?" 

"Who's pregnant?" 

There was so much she wanted to say, but all the words had flown from her mind. They were trapped, caught in the swirling vortex of fear and panic and heartbreak as she watched John stand there, unmoving and unrelenting, his face a mask of grey and what she could only imagine to be horror. 

"Are you?" he asked, voice deceptively calm. Veronica swallowed, but nodded, just the once. John inhaled sharply. "Right, okay. That's--alright. Okay. Just, I'll be back." 

It was the worst thing she had ever seen--including the time her childhood labrador, Greta, had been hit by a car when she was eight--watching John turn on his heel and leave her behind. She watched him go, his pace steady and even as he turned the corner around the block and disappeared from view. If she could, she would have grown roots and burrowed herself into the earth. She would have turned back time and bought a better diaphragm, or insisted they used condoms. She would have turned down his drink, would have taken up Roger's offer instead. She would have listened to her mum and kept her legs together, pushing away his wandering hands with a coy smile and an insistence of marriage first. She would have done anything, and everything, if it meant that John would come back. 

"Oh, darling, it's going to be okay," Freddie murmured, reaching up to wipe her tears away with gentle thumbs. "Come inside, won't you? Come, come, I'll make us a pot of tea." 

He led her away from the street, his hand warm against the small of her back as he guided her up to Brian and Roger's flat.

 

 

 

"You'll see, he'll be back soon," Freddie assured her once he had her settled on the couch, a knitted throw draped across her shoulders. 

"John's probably just walking it off," Brian added, pushing a mug of tea into her numb hands. "He gets like this, you know how he is." 

"He hates me," she blubbered. "I've ruined everything." 

"Last time I checked, and forgive me if I'm out of practice, but making a baby takes two people," Roger drawled. Brian had fished him from the bushes and stretched him out on the floor in front of the couch, a fresh ice pack on his head and the duvet from their bed stretched over him. Freddie stuck his foot onto his forehead and pressed down in warning. 

Brian came to sit next to her, tugging her so that her head rested against his shoulder. "No, Veronica, you haven't ruined anything. These things happen."

"Well, I guess this is the best time to tell everyone, anyway," Roger added, batting Freddie's foot from his forehead. "Brian, we've got to break up. I think the Catholic church frowns on bigamy more than they do homosexuality. Tetz, we'll have a Christmas wedding; Fred, you're best man." 

"Who says Freddie's best man?" Brian scoffed. 

Roger shrugged. "I mean, the groom can't hook up with the best man, Brian, that's just tacky." 

"I'm also his best friend, dearest," Freddie added, leaning over Veronica to pat him condescendingly on the knee. "No hard feelings, of course." 

Veronica sniffled into her tea. Immediately, all three men turned towards her. 

"You guys are being too nice," she said wetly. "I've just made a mess of everything. John's never going to forgive me, my parents are going to kill me, and--"

"And nothing," Freddie declared. "You don't know it, but I'm _excellent_ with children. Who do you think kept Roger alive all those years before Brian came into the picture?" Roger flipped him off from the floor, but didn't contradict him. "And Roger, well, you could do a lot worse for a husband. Plus, with Roger comes Brian, and he's the best out of all of us. Don't you worry a thing, dearest, we'll take care of everything."

Brian noticed the wobble in her chin and the catch in her chest. "Freddie," he warned, "stop it." 

"What? I'm just saying, that no matter what, that little peanut inside of her is now Queen's first baby! What sort of royalty would we be if we didn't take care of the little prince or princess? Just cuz it's father is a ponce--"

"Freddie!" 

It was too late. Veronica had, once again, dissolved into tears. Roger soothingly pet at her ankles, still sprawled on the floor.

"Brian, Fred, can I talk to Veronica alone for a moment?" Roger asked softly. "Why don't you two go try and figure out lunch." 

There was a brief moment where Veronica thought that maybe they wouldn't leave, but then Brian grabbed Freddie by the back of his neck like an errant kitten and hauled him, protesting, into the kitchen. 

"Tetz, you've got to breathe, alright?" he said, propping himself up on one elbow. There was a twig in his hair, hanging down over his ear. "Believe me when I say everything'll work out. John just needs a chance for all this to make sense. I mean, you screamed at a doctor and I wee'd my pants. Let him have his freak out, and when he comes back--because he will--let him explain and you can go from there."

"I just don't know what to do," she cried. "I'm so scared, and he's gone, and I don't know what to do!" 

"Then we figure it out, together. I meant what I said, I'll marry you. Tell your family I'm the father, buy you a little house, raise the nugget as my own. We're family, Tetz. Blood of the covenant, and all that jazz." 

Through her tears, her misery, and her nausea, she managed a weak smile. "Oh Rog, I love you." 

"I love you, too."

 

 

 

Brian had managed to get her to choke down a cheese toasty and a glass of milk, hovering in a way that implied he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to express it. After a stern talking to hissed over the kitchen stove, Freddie had forgone mentioning John at all, choosing instead to prattle on about their plans for the next album, how the cats were doing, and the newest fashion brought in for the season at Biba. Roger, the poor lamb, had dozed off on the floor, snoring noisily. It was idyllic and domestic, and if it were under any other circumstances, Veronica would have been happy to be welcomed among the lot of them. 

She had just been working up the strength to bow out gracefully from the apartment and return, tail between her legs, to her own, when the door flew open. There, panting and sweating, was John, eyes wild and cheeks ruddy. 

"Good," he panted, "you're still here." 

"Wazzit?" Roger snorted, jerking awake and flailing towards a more inclined position. 

"I've got it," John continued, striding towards the couch as though they were the only two people in the world. "I've figured it all out, and there's not need to worry." 

"John--"

"I just left a message for Norman, I'm hoping he'll give us a loan for a house. Maybe in the area, if we can find a good steal, although I know you've always loved the country, so we can look outside of it. Or in Sheffield! We could get one by your parents, that might be nice. Mum wouldn't mind us near her, either but, we have options. Which is good, that's great!" John ran his hand through his hair, pausing once only to breathe before barrelling on. "And I spoke to your father--didn't say anything, just in case you didn't want me to--but I know how much it means to you to be traditional, and I couldn't do this without knowing that he approves, and well, like they say, rip off the plaster!" 

"John, what--"

"I've had this forever, really, I have, but what with the tour of America, and Brian in the hospital, it all kind of went to shit, didn't it? And it was never the right time, but the other night, you told me you'd marry me anyways, so I was originally going to do this at Christmas, but now is better than later! So what do you say?" 

He paused, staring at her, chest heaving. Veronica blinked, and glanced over at the other three. It was nice to see that she wasn't the only one who was confused, judging by all of their faces. 

"Wha...what do I say for what?" she asked. John blinked before visibly shaking himself. 

"Fuck, I've cocked this all up." Dropping to one knee, he dug a black velvet box out of his pocket and presented it to her. "Veronica Tetzlaff, will you do the honor of marrying me?" 

"I think I'm going to cry," Freddie cooed, pressing his hands to his mouth. 

"Okay, that's it. Fred, Roger, c'mon, why don't we leave them to it and go to the movies," Brian announced, yanking Freddie to his feet before coming over to do the same for Roger. He herded them out the door, ignoring their protests that the film wasn't for another two hours, Brian, couldn't they just wait until she agrees? 

Meanwhile, John stayed where he was, frozen, still holding the ring box. Veronica struggled to find the words. 

"John," she said eventually. "You don't have to do this." 

He furrowed his brow. "Don't have to do what?" 

"You don't have to propose to me, just because of the baby. I'll be fine--"

"What? No, Ron, I'm not proposing because of the baby--"

"Do you even want it?" she snapped, cutting him off. He paused, squinting up at her.

"Of course," he said, as if it was that simple. "Don't you?" 

It was the very thought that had been haunting her all day. Did she even want it? Of course she did. There wasn't a chance in hell that she wasn't going to bring a tiny little child into this world with his green eyes and little gap-tooth smile. Even if she had no prospects, or if he had never come back, there was never going to be a universe where Veronica didn't want John's baby. 

"I do," she whispered. "I've only known about it for--" She checked the clock on the mantle. "--three hours, and I can't imagine not wanting it." 

His smile could light up the whole of Piccadilly Circus. "Me, too. Ron, I want it. I want _you_. I've wanted you since I saw you in that disco wearing that green dress and dancing like you didn't have a care in the world. When you told me you'd marry me in a heartbeat, last week, I knew that was it. I want to wake up next to you every morning, and cook you carrot-free chicken soup when you're ill, and I want to watch our baby grow up to be an adult. You're my best friend, Ronnie, and the only person I ever want to come home to. Please, Ron, marry me." 

Veronica scrubbed her face clear of snot and tears, this time happy ones. "I would love to," she said, misty-eyed, "but I already told Roger I'd marry him." 

"I'll fight him," John grinned. "He's got bad knees, I can take him easily." 

"Well in that case," she laughed, "I guess I'll have to marry you." 

John threw himself onto the couch next to her, dragging her into a sinfully sweet kiss. Still holding her close, he cradled one hand gently against her cheek and pressed the other one reverently to the still-flat plane of her stomach. They sat there, together, just holding each other; a family on the verge of creation.

 

 

 

Roger sucked on the straw of his coke noisily, revelling in the obnoxious sound as it skittered among the ice cubes. "Ten quid says I can get them to name me godfather," he announced around the plastic. 

Brian rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat as Freddie bent forward over the table, narrowing his eyes. 

"I'll take that bet and raise it to twenty," he countered, sticking out his hand for them to shake. 

"You're on." 

"Boys," Brian warned. "That's a stupid bet to make." 

Both heads swivelled towards him. Freddie frowned. "Why? Think they'll name _you_ godfather?" 

"I'm definitely a better choice," Brian shrugged. "But whoever they chose will be the right person for them. They don't need the two of your butting in with your two cents and bothering them." 

"Spoken like someone who knows they're not even in the running," Freddie scoffed. Roger cackled around the straw. 

"Babe, I love you, but you're the worst choice. Everyone knows I'm Tetz's favorite," Roger boasted, "after all, I was the first person to know." 

This time, it was Brian's turn to narrow his eyes. "Just because you're the only one with a car doesn't mean that makes you her favorite. If anything, it means she was desperate enough to need a ride to go to you." 

"Someone sounds like sour grapes," taunted Freddie. "If you actually consider yourself to be in the running, put your money where your mouth is." 

"Forty quid," Brian snapped without further thought, sticking his hand out for a shake. He'd show them, Brian was going to be named godfather even if it killed him. They'll see, he'd be great at it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Who can even believe that I managed to produce this monstrosity only a week after the last? I'll put the blame on procrastination, an over active imagination, and sheer boredom. Title stolen from Madonna's hot classic _Papa Don't Preach_.
> 
> True story: my cousin was, in fact, convinced that she had walking pneumonia when she really was pregnant. Turns out, early symptoms of pregnancy can align with those of walking pneumonia (fatigue, nausea, and night sweats. who'd have thought it?) 
> 
> I also made the fatal mistake of asking my mother (a nurse) what the early symptoms for pregnancy were like, so now she probably thinks I, too, and pregnant. I hope my future suffering brings you joy. Y'all are welcome.
> 
> If you liked it? Shoot me a comment, a kudos, or come join me on the brand new tumblr (talkingismylifewrites.tumblr.com) I created just for this. I'm accepting everything from head-cannons to prompts to even pictures of young, gorgeous John Deacon. If you hated it, hey, do the same! No pasa nada
> 
> PS Happy International Women's Day!


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